[ It's been days. Thirteen doesn't mean to, but she falls into something that might resemble routine — for all that they're getting a chance to, here in Milton.
The prison counsellor had talked a lot about that. The importance of routine, and re-examining life skills, and falling back into good habits out there. She'd stressed those words with a little bit of disdain, pointedly, because excessive prescribing was a minor sin, comparatively, and surely nothing but ego could tank someone with an M.D. that hard, that fast.
Good habits in Milton amount to two: don't freeze, and don't die.
The place is bare-boned but sturdy, like all the other homes in Milton. It is — was — the doctor's home, whoever they were before they vanished like the rest of the town. A light dust lines almost everything; a low whine of chill-wind sounds, every so often, between the gaps in the windows. Thirteen's boots track snow in, but there's not much to be helped about that. This is still, somehow, all part of the routine — clearing out fireplaces, bodies, collecting discarded personal effects. She pockets a small matchbox and a wristwatch that's stopped, monogrammed with E.W. on the back. The larger things — two basic first aid kits, one bottle of Amoxicillin, four boxes of nitrile gloves, foil blankets — get put securely into a canvas backpack.
Her stethoscope sits over her shoulders. It's kind of a dead giveaway, like a prop for a costume she hasn't worn in a year. The hunting jacket she's wearing is a little too long in the arms for her, but it's warm. The front door's been left slightly ajar. Fresh air, as chill as it is, has got to be better than leaving everything like a mausoleum.
She's just lingering over the books — stacks of it, haphazardly piled up high on a desk, when the door's hinges creak. Then, footfalls. Thirteen glances up, nods, then tips her chin. She can't place his name, exactly, but she's seen him around once or twice. (So much for good habits.)
No 'hey' or 'hi'. But Thirteen does turn around a little, showing the front of the hardcover she's got in her hands: ]
Interested in some light reading material?
[ The title: GRAY'S ANATOMY, VOL III, emblazoned in neat letters. ]
— pre-event, closed; mohinder.
The prison counsellor had talked a lot about that. The importance of routine, and re-examining life skills, and falling back into good habits out there. She'd stressed those words with a little bit of disdain, pointedly, because excessive prescribing was a minor sin, comparatively, and surely nothing but ego could tank someone with an M.D. that hard, that fast.
Good habits in Milton amount to two: don't freeze, and don't die.
The place is bare-boned but sturdy, like all the other homes in Milton. It is — was — the doctor's home, whoever they were before they vanished like the rest of the town. A light dust lines almost everything; a low whine of chill-wind sounds, every so often, between the gaps in the windows. Thirteen's boots track snow in, but there's not much to be helped about that. This is still, somehow, all part of the routine — clearing out fireplaces, bodies, collecting discarded personal effects. She pockets a small matchbox and a wristwatch that's stopped, monogrammed with E.W. on the back. The larger things — two basic first aid kits, one bottle of Amoxicillin, four boxes of nitrile gloves, foil blankets — get put securely into a canvas backpack.
Her stethoscope sits over her shoulders. It's kind of a dead giveaway, like a prop for a costume she hasn't worn in a year. The hunting jacket she's wearing is a little too long in the arms for her, but it's warm. The front door's been left slightly ajar. Fresh air, as chill as it is, has got to be better than leaving everything like a mausoleum.
She's just lingering over the books — stacks of it, haphazardly piled up high on a desk, when the door's hinges creak. Then, footfalls. Thirteen glances up, nods, then tips her chin. She can't place his name, exactly, but she's seen him around once or twice. (So much for good habits.)
No 'hey' or 'hi'. But Thirteen does turn around a little, showing the front of the hardcover she's got in her hands: ]
Interested in some light reading material?
[ The title: GRAY'S ANATOMY, VOL III, emblazoned in neat letters. ]